


Feigning Illness

by stan_of_many



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Peter Burke, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Sick Character, Sick Neal Caffrey, Sickfic, maybe a bit more overt than the show, probably a bit sweeter than the show but not too ooc since Neal’s sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29480415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stan_of_many/pseuds/stan_of_many
Summary: “Neal heard Peter walk closer and could almost feel the look of intense suspicion from the Agent before a hand gently grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face his handler. Neal was not expecting the expression that really painted Peter’s face as he met his gaze; far from suspicion, it was one of caring concern.“You really aren’t feeling well are you?” Peter questioned quietly.”Their relationship is already strained after the warehouse disaster and Peter isn’t inclined to believe that Neal’s really sick...but sometimes even the best conmen are really just not feeling well and even suspicious agents care about their partners
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season 3, with the angsty strain on their relationship of Peter suspecting Neal has the treasure and Neal basically denying it (while having it), it doesn’t play a major role, mostly just setting up the angst. 
> 
> I fully acknowledge that this fic is somewhat OOC, but I’m not inclined to apologize for a bit more fluff and affection than was portrayed in canon ;) 
> 
> Also, I live for the canon father-son dynamic between Neal and Peter, that is the spirit in which this fic was written and I prefer for people to take it that way.

Depending on the mark feigning illness could have two different effects—both of which were quite desirable. 

The first was for germaphobes. Pretending to be sick could keep people far away, easily keeping them from noticing whatever it was that you didn’t want them to notice. It could also give good excuse for strange absences, people would assume they probably didn’t want to know. 

On the other hand, for more compassionate people, illness could bring sympathy, and some well placed sympathy, sprinkled like salt into a dish to bring out the flavor, could make or break a con. 

Pretending to be sick could also be used in an almost endless variety of helpful ways to get other small things. Many a free lunch, ride, or dollar had a certain young conman gotten with a well placed cough or a pathetically raspy voice. 

Needless to say, feigning illness was a helpful tool in a con, and one that Neal Caffrey was a professional in using. 

He had mastered the art of “the painfully horse voice”, many different types of coughs (from “you probably want to keep a bit of distance” to “plague victim coming through”), and how to sound congested when in perfect health. 

Mozzie had spent more than one night taking a page from Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and teaching his protégée the finer points of using certain cosmetics to improve the effect for a more striking illness. A bit of powder or foundation to pale the face (all the better with a darker product shadowed under the eyes), a carefully placed flush of rouge high on the cheekbones, a bit of Vaseline as glistening sweat, all could give a startlingly accurate impression of someone quite ill with any fever-related illness they chose to claim (or, minus the rouge, any stomach aliment as well). 

Unfortunately for Neal, he had used almost all of these tricks in an a specific undercover for Peter a few months ago. Nick Halden had managed to take down a particularly nasty price fixing group and when suspicion had begun to circulate, had saved the operation with a convincing flu. Peter had almost called off the whole thing as Neal’s health steadily deteriorated until the CI had managed to sneak a message to the worried agents,

“I’m just faking—let’s take them down.” 

The members of the White Collar division were impressed, even complimenting him on his acting ability and teasing him in his knowledge of makeup. The post-case celebration involved quite a bit of explaining and storytelling of past alleged cons where the skills had also come in handy as well as a not-entirely-joking promise to some probies of a masterclass at some point. 

At the time, Diana, Peter, and Jones’ impressed looks and praise had felt good, but Peter’s knowledge of his skills in feigning illness was coming back to bite Neal as his handler glared suspiciously across the car. 

***

A pounding pressure had sat heavily behind Neal’s eyes since he had woken up that morning and he had downed about three different medications, from Advil to Sudafed, after ignoring his lack of appetite and forcing breakfast down his sore throat. Today was not a good day to be sick. 

Neal opted for a brief “morning Peter” as he climbed into the car at 9:30, hoping it wouldn’t be too much for his slightly hoarse voice. Peter narrowed his eyes at the sight (and sound) of his CI and Neal sighed internally. 

Suspicion seemed to be the cause of most of Peter’s looks toward him these days. With the treasure, Peter’s accusations and mistrust, and Neal’s denials weighing heavily between them, their relationship was feeling distinctly strained. 

The worst part was that Neal knew his handler’s immediate suspicion of his peaked appearance wasn’t entirely unwarranted. Peter was already on edge because of the warehouse disaster and he knew full well what Neal was capable of when it came to feigning illness, on top of the fact that Neal was generally a healthy person and had only actually gotten ill once since he’d started working with Peter—a simple cold at that. 

Neal knew that he even had what Peter would consider a motive for faking; they were going about three hours away to help with a case at a museum that Neal was highly suspected of stealing from in the past; he had already briefly tried to beg off the trip the week before due to the awkwardness.

So with all that, Neal could easily see how his badly timed illness would seem a little too “well timed” to the agent. He dwelt briefly on how unfair it was with all the reasonable suspicion his handler had most of the time, for once Neal really wasn’t faking or trying to use it for anything, he just didn’t feel well. 

His best bet, Neal figured, was to tough it out, maybe if Peter saw he wasn’t trying to get anything out of his illness, he might at very least see that not everything his CI did was a con. 

Neal stifled a shiver as he closed the passenger seat door, choosing to believe that it was from the icy wind that swept through the city and not a feverish chill, and reached up to adjust the heat, before glancing over at Peter. 

To his credit, Peter only retained his glare a moment longer before focusing on the road and tossing over a case file with the specifics of the case. 

“Some light reading material for the road.” 

Neal picked it up, but held it instead of opening it, staring out the window instead. 

“You do need to read that you know, it wasn’t a suggestion. I need you up to date on this case.” Peter glanced over. Neal nodded,

“Yeah, but it’s a long ride, I’ll do it a bit later.” 

Motion sickness wasn’t usually a big deal for Neal, it had come up a few times in the past, but cars had never been a problem as long as he was in the front, and the issue had never come up with Peter. But with breakfast already feeling uneasy, Neal opted for at least waiting for some of the medication he had swallowed to kick in before attempting to read in the moving car. 

Peter shrugged and flipped on the radio. Neal didn’t find the usual argument about listening to the game worth his energy, and so the drive went for several hours with the two riding in, if not as amicable as usual, at least not totally hostile silence. 

***

By the third hour and about half an hour away from the museum, Neal had given up hope that the medication would do much beside offer some brief, minor relief and in fact was feeling noticeably worse, stifling chills with more frequency and swallowing sips of water around the pain in his throat. But Peter had been glancing at the as-of-yet-unopened file for the past twenty minutes, so he resigned himself to a bit of reading about the case. 

***

Twenty minutes later found Neal sincerely regretting the decision to peruse the case file. Dizziness had him trying desperately to find a steady focal point in the skyline, which was difficult as a freezing rain had begun drizzling from the sky and the windshield wipers did nothing to help keep the nausea that had been lying low so far from rearing up in full force. 

He spent the last ten minutes of the drive desperately distracting himself and waiting for the moment he could walk on steady pavement and let the icy sting of the freezing air take away his nausea. 

The dizziness did reduce somewhat, to Neal’s utter relief as they stepped out of the car and onto the pavement a good three blocks away from the museum, but he had very little time to enjoy it as Peter broke the silence they had maintained to quiz him about the details of the case. Neal had retained enough information from his brief scan to scrape by, but there were enough gaps in his knowledge that Peter was thoroughly annoyed. 

“Neal, I told you to read it—“ 

“I know, I know, I just got a bit dizzy reading in the car” a partial truth and one that he hoped Peter would believe but Peter just shook his head, his mouth set in a frustrated line,

“You act like I have  no idea what you’re doing Neal, and you forget that I was there on the Sackler case when you showed us all of these tricks. Car sickness has never been an issue for you, so I suggest you cowboy up from whatever illness you’re faking for whatever reason you’re faking it, because you work for the FBI now and we have a job to do.” He stormed down the street, hunched against the bitter wind and freezing rain, leaving his CI to follow. 

***

Neal made no effort to hide his chattering teeth as he entered the museum soaked through and thoroughly rumpled. Peter was shivering almost as hard as they stood in the entryway and waited for the museum curator to meet them. 

Neal focused his attention on warming up, finding a spot near a heating vent to stand and rubbing his arms briskly, but he was finding it difficult to stop the violent shivering. Peter eyed him askance as, three minutes later, Neal was shivering just as hard as when he had been when he walked in and was stifling a cough on top of it. Peter had warmed up in a minute or so, but sympathy seemed to take precedence above suspicion and he walked over and tugged at his CI’s coat. 

“You’ll probably be warmer at this point if you take this off, it’s soaked.” Neal resisted the urge to wrap it tighter, anything to keep in the warmth, but he knew Peter was right and surrendered as the agent gently pulled off the sodden clothing leaving him in his suit which had never felt quite so flimsy before. Peter opening his mouth to say something else but the curator entered the foyer at that moment,

“Gentlemen! Agent Burke!” He greeted Peter with a handshake and a smile and turned less enthusiastically to Neal, “Mr. Neal Caffrey.” Neal gave him a nod that he returned politely, which was more than Neal had expected for someone he was suspected of stealing a valuable piece of art from. 

Peter interrupted a moment that would have become awkward, 

“I know you and Mr. Caffrey’s alleged history Mr. Kirk, but if you do believe you have several paintings replaced recently with forgeries, Neal is the best person to confirm that.” The curator gave a nod, 

“I believe you. Thank you for your willingness to come out.” Peter waved a hand,

“It was no trouble. Where are the paintings?” The curator jerked his head for them to follow,

“Across the museum unfortunately.” 

The curator kept up a steady stream of chat as they walked across the museum, mostly plying them with information that had already been in the case file. 

Peter listened absentmindedly and kept a close eye on Neal, more out of habit than true worry that his CI would be actually planning anything. 

Neal himself barely noticed his handler’s scrutiny. While he would normally bate the man by showing particular interest in some piece of art, his shivering had somehow turned to a feeling of being overheated, and with it a significant amount of dizziness returned. He swallowed hard despite the pain in his throat and resisted the urge to steady himself against the wall. 

The walk seemed to be miles, (in reality it was only about six minutes) but they finally reached the room where the paintings were being held. The heat flash had once again been replaced by chills, though this time the dizziness hadn’t subsided as the heat did. Neal noticed Peter giving him an odd look and tried to stifle his shivering as the curator waved at the paintings,

“If Mr. Caffrey could authenticate these for us?”

“Of course.” Neal wasn’t quite sure how well he’d be able to do it as everything he looked at for too long seemed to be spinning, but he’d figure something out. 

***

It was difficult. The forgeries—if they were forgeries—were quite good. There was good reason based on some suspicious circumstances at the museum a few days before to believe that the real paintings had been replaced, but try as he might, with the dizziness, headache, nausea, and every other symptom currently making him miserable, Neal couldn’t find a single real bit proof that they were. 

After 20 minutes of examining the paintings, Peter finally broke the long silence, no doubt surprised at his usually quick CI’s long exam,

“Find anything?” 

“I’m trying Peter!” Neal snapped, far more aggressively than he meant to. The tension was palpable for several awkward seconds before Peter nodded at the curator,

“Could you...maybe give us a moment?” The curator nodded and left the room. Peter turned back to his CI,

“Do we have a problem, Neal?” Neal shook his head,

“No, Peter—I didn’t—no I’m just—just frustrated—” he tried to surreptitiously steady himself against the table as the room started spinning again, and Peter took a step toward him,

“Are you sure, because you’ve been acting strangely all day, and Neal, if you’re planning something—“

“I’m not!” Neal almost yelled, his frustration with the day, his inability to authenticate the paintings, the badly timed illness, and Peter’s suspicion, however well deserved or not, came spilling out for a moment before he could reign it in. He turned away and back to the paintings but not before a rough cough forced its way out and the feverish chills took over. 

He heard Peter walk closer and could almost feel the look of intense suspicion from the Agent before a hand gently grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face his handler. Neal was not expecting the expression that really painted Peter’s face as he met his gaze; far from suspicion, it was one of caring concern.

“You really aren’t feeling well are you?” Peter questioned quietly, his hand squeezing the younger man’s shoulder in a comforting sort of way. Neal dropped his gaze under the scrutiny and didn’t answer. “Are you able to finish authenticating the paintings?” It was a genuine question stemming from worry, not an order, or even request for him to finish. Just a question,  are you okay ?

“I—um—“ Neal stumbled, unwilling to admit that the room was still spinning, that he was actively fighting nausea, and that the chills that played along his spine were making it very difficult to complete the task. Peter’s expression of concern immediately became more intense as his usually smooth partner grasped for words. Peter led him over to a chair. 

“Sit down.” Neal complied as Peter crouched next to him andreached over, placing the back of his hand against his CI’s forehead. 

Peter sharply sucked in a breath as he felt the heat. “Oh geeze Neal.” The exclamation was quiet with horror, “you’re burning up.” He gently felt the younger man’s cheeks and steadied the back of his neck with one hand as he placed a full palm against the CI’s forehead to check again. Not that there was much to mistake, Neal’s skin was clearly hot with fever and he leaned almost imperceptibly into Peter’s comparatively cool touch, a move he definitely wouldn’t have done had he been less ill. 

“How long have you been feeling sick?” It was a stupid question, Peter was aware, they both knew the CI had been ill since before he’d stepped into the car that morning, but Neal answered anyway. 

“I wasn’t feeling so hot when I woke up this morning.” 

“And yesterday?”

“I thought I was just tired.” Peter almost cursed but he knew it wasn’t fair to Neal to assign any blame, Peter wouldn’t have believed him if he had called in sick under the circumstances andeven so had thought he was faking all day. 

Neal had known that, knew that Peter would accuse him of faking, and couldn’t be blamed for not complaining...it was a team effort that had landed them into the situation at hand (which Peter readily admitted with some guilt, was far worse for the feverish and shivering CI than for him).

Peter ran a hand down his own face, keeping a comforting hand on Neal’s shoulder as he thought about the situation, pushing down feelings of guilt to be examined at a later, less urgent, time. 

“Okay Neal, you’re obviously pretty sick. We need to get you home, or maybe to urgent care ASAP.” Neal’s lack of argument only intensified the situation for Peter as he helped Neal up and approached the curator, “I apologize Mr. Kirk, but an emergency came up. I’m afraid we won’t be able to finish authenticating right now, I’ll be sure to have the FBI follow up on when we can come back.” He led Neal down the hall, keeping a firm hand at his back to steady him. 

As they entered the lobby, Peter grimaced at the site of the weather which had only gotten worse. “Okay. I’m going to get the car and pick you up. Is that alright?” Neal nodded and leaned heavily against the wall. 

Ten minutes later, Peter was back, helping him into the car that waited right outside. Neal was pathetically grateful that he hadn’t been forced to walk through the freezing wind and rain to the car, but was still shivering violently and badly stifling a coughing fit as Peter closed his passenger seat door. Peter’s expression was grim as he got into the driver’s seat and looked over at his shivering CI. He opened his mouth, possibly to scold, seemed to think better of it, closed it, then took off his jacket and laid it over Neal, using the proximity to feel his forehead again, wincing at the heat. He adjusted the vents in the car and put them on high, before turning some of his attention to the road and starting the trip home. 

“So, I know about the fever and cough, what else should I know?” Neal coughed and hesitated, “Don’t hold out on me Neal.” Peter warned. 

“Uh, chills, my throat is hurting pretty badly I guess, and some nausea and dizziness, that’s all.” 

“That’s all?” Peter huffed with a bit of bitter sarcasm. He sighed and seemed to bite back another scolding, “we are definitely going to talk about this later when I won’t feel like I’m yelling at a dying puppy about it’s lack of self preservation,” he glanced over and his face softened slightly, “but for now why don’t you try to sleep a bit.”

“Okay.” Neal said quietly, too tired to respond to Peter’s gentle teasing and closed his eyes. 

***

A curse from Peter drew him out of sleep. He shifted, stiff from sleeping in the car, and glanced at the clock. 4:30 PM, they’d been driving for two hours, and it looked almost dark enough to be night, but their surroundings showed that they were still several hours away from the city. A glance out the window clearly showed him the cause of Peter’s frustration; the temperature that had been hovering around freezing as it rained seemed to have gone down a few degrees and had caused the roads to become dangerously slick. Peter was driving well under the speed limit and white-knuckling the steering wheel, his gaze focused solely on the road. 

As Neal grew more conscious, the full misery of his illness came crashing down with an intensity worse than before. His throat in particular felt like he had drunk a mouthful of glass and he repressed a whimper as he swallowed. 

The car skidded slightly and Peter’s face grew even more grim as he wrestled the car back into control. The jerky movements brought back the nausea and dizziness in full force, and Neal’s mouth filled suddenly with saliva. 

“Peter, pull over.” Peter was startled,

“Neal—“

“Pull over.” Neal swallowed convulsively and Peter got the picture, carefully wrestling the car to the shoulder of the road and flipping on the hazards. 

“Are you gonna be sick?” Neal focused on breathing instead of answering and fumbled for the door handle, but Peter held him back,

“Don’t go outside, it’s too cold and you’re too sick.” Neal heard a rustling and felt him push a plastic grocery bag into his grasp. He felt a steady hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles as he gagged and lost the battle with nausea, throwing up what remained of his breakfast that morning. 

Peter’s voice was gentle as he finished, “Alright, here’s some water, don’t drink too much.” He rinsed out his mouth and tried to swallow a sip. The pain in his throat was so intense Neal couldn’t hold back a gasp of pain. Peter looked worried,

“What’s wrong?” 

“My throat.” Was all Neal could manage before launching into a coughing fit. Peter’s mouth was pressed into a tight line as he looked at his very ill CI. He reached over and placed a hand on the back of Neal’s neck, feeling the heat poring off the young man in waves; the fever hadn’t gone down in the slightest. 

“Okay, executive decision. It’s too dangerous to drive anyway and you need to rest, we’re stopping at the next hotel.” Neal nodded silently and closed his eyes as Peter pulled the car back onto the road

***

45 minutes later found Peter sitting Neal on the edge of the hotel bed and gently pulling off the younger man’s suit jacket and tie before turning to the first aid kit he had wrangled from the hotel. 

“I’m gonna call El and let her know what’s going on, see if she has any advice.” Neal could hear Peter’s side of the conversation as the agent briefed Elizabeth on the events of the afternoon. He focused on slipping off his shoes and pants before turning his attention to his dress shirt. 

Neal looked up as a clear “oh no” could be heard from El’s line as Peter mentioned Neal’s plight with some more garbled words of sympathy. Peter nodded along, “of course, I’ll tell him. Any advice hun?” He listened intently before turning back and noticing Neal fumbling at the row of tiny buttons with trembling fingers. Peter tucked the phone into his shoulder and gently pulled the CI’s hands away, unbuttoning the shirt himself and pulling it off, leaving Neal in a white t-shirt as he continued the conversation with El.

Neal would have flushed with embarrassment at the need to be undressed like a child if he wasn’t already flushed with fever, but Peter didn’t make a big deal about it, simply turning back to the first aid kit and fiddling with the thermometer as he spoke to El. Neal was grateful. 

“—of course hun...yes I can do that...thank you so much...yeah I’ll call you back in about forty minutes, gonna take care of Neal first...I love you too hun...bye.” 

Peter turned back toward Neal who had closed his eyes and was slumped against the headboard, still sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Hang in there just a few more minutes, Neal.” He said sympathetically, helping his CI to sit up and handing him the thermometer to place in his mouth. 

They sat in silence. Peter noticed Neal shiver slightly as they waited for the readout and he suddenly had a vivid flash of understanding for how truly awful of a day Neal had had. Seriously sick and completely miserable, Neal didn’t even have the ability to let anyone know how ill he felt without being accused of lying or pulling a con. Peter knew Neal was keeping important secrets and it angered him, but things never should have reached that point between them and the agent knew it. He had brought Neal over to the other side, “the good side”, it was time to show him that the good side meant caring for people even when things got rough. 

“Come here” 

Peter’s voice was quiet as he put a sudden arm around Neal’s shoulder and pulled him against his chest, holding him gently and firmly as he might’ve for a child.

Neal tensed for a second as the agent pulled him close before, to Peter’s surprise, melting into the embrace and resting his head against the older man’s shoulder. Peter could feel his own face morphing back into the tight lines of concern as he felt the unnatural heat of the body pressed against his, and could feel Neal shivering. He rubbed a hand down the younger man’s back as if trying to stop the chills,

“I’m sorry things got to this point Neal.” Peter said quietly. Neal shifted as if to say something but the thermometer beeped before he could. Peter took it out, reading it with a frown,

“103.2. You really have to go all or nothing don’t you?” He sighed, “But of course you do, you wouldn’t be Neal Caffrey if you didn’t.” Neal could hear the concern under the wry tone the agent took on but smiled weakly,

“You know it.” 

“El had an idea of what matches your symptoms, but I’m gonna have to check you quickly.” Peter put a hand to the younger man’s neck and felt gently, “Yeah. Your lymph nodes are pretty swollen. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue for me.” Neal obeyed and the agent peered down his throat and winced, “Definitely strep.” Peter sighed again, “that means good and bad news. Good news is when you get antibiotics you’ll be feeling better in a few hours. Bad news—we’re stuck here for the night so no antibiotics.” 

Neal nodded, too tired to do much else, and started to slump back against the headboard before Peter caught him gently. “You can get in bed now.” He pulled back the covers and helped his CI lay down. 

It was funny, Peter thought, how natural it felt. If someone had told him five or so years ago when he was chasing the young con, that one day he would be tucking a feverish Neal Caffrey into bed, he would have looked at them quite strangely and probably laughed. But now, after working with Neal for over a year, laughing with him, risking his life with him, becoming his friend—it was obvious: Neal Caffrey was a person. A very human person who got sick, made mistakes, and needed comfort and care, something that he had obviously gotten far too little of in his mysterious past. And Neal Caffrey was also his friend and partner, and that’s what friends and partners did—they had each other’s backs. Whatever else he did, Neal had always had Peter’s back and Peter would always have Neal’s. So really, Peter reflected, it wasn’t so strange that it felt natural. 

He stood for a moment, watching his friend as he contemplated how far their relationship had come even with all it’s rockiness, before snapping back to the moment at hand and heading to the bathroom. The agent grabbed the hand towels provided by the hotel and ran one under cold water, walking back to the bed and gently placing it over Neal’s forehead and eyes. The cool cloth couldn’t have felt anything but amazing on his far-too-hot skin and Neal made a small noise of relief as it touched his face. 

“Thanks Peter.” His voice was horse and sleepy and they both knew the thanks was for more than just the cloth. Peter nodded though he knew Neal wasn’t looking,

“If you need anything else, just ask me please Neal. Don’t worry about waking me up.”

***

It was 2:00 AM when Neal did wake Peter up, though it certainly wasn’t intentional. 

Peter was jerked out of sleep by harsh breathing on the other side of the bed. Rolling over he saw Neal’s silhouette in the dark room sitting up. Peter quickly sat up himself and turned on the bedside lamp so he could better measure the situation. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and padded around to Neal’s side, sitting on the edge. 

“Neal?” Neal turned toward him sharply, eyes wide and wild. His eyes widened even further with recognition, and to Peter’s horror he shrunk away,

“You’re with the FBI! Agent Burke, what are you doing here?” The words were desperate and were nearly interrupted by a coughing fit, “Are you here to arrest me?” Peter shook his head,

“No, Neal—“ he stopped short as he saw how hard the younger man was shaking. This was different from the feverish chills Peter realized with sudden understanding, Neal was trembling—Neal Caffrey was terrified. He was utterly terrified and he wasn’t hiding it, eyes focused sharply on Peter his pupils were dilated and gaze glassy and there was a concerningly brilliant flush on his cheeks. 

Peter put a comforting hand on his shoulder and pulled back as the CI flinched, violently. 

“No—no, Neal. I’m not here to arrest you. You’re sick and I need to check your temperature. Can you sit still for a minute?” A quick touch to Neal’s forehead had Peter’s stomach sinking at the heat and the thermometer only confirmed his fears. He cursed quietly,

“104.2. We need to cool you down  now .” Neal hadn’t spoken since Peter had told him he wasn’t going to arrest him, but the trembling hadn’t stopped. Peter put a hand at his back and tried to haul him up, “Come on Neal.” The CI inhaled sharply,

“You said you weren’t here to arrest me Agent Burke! You  said !” Tears welled up in Neal’s eyes and Peter changed tactics, smoothing his hand over Neal’s back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. 

“I’m not going to arrest you Neal. I’m just going to help you okay?” Neal didn’t answer and Peter crouched down to be at eye level, meeting his gaze directly. He was struck by how completely the illness had stripped away his cool, self assured partner, leaving the distraught young man sitting on the bed. “Do you trust me Neal?” There was a long moment of silence before Neal nodded, the tears that had welled up trailing down his face. 

“Yes.” 

Peter nodded, “Okay then. Let’s get up.” He helped Neal up and supported him to the bathroom where he turned the shower to lukewarm. Neal swallowed hard and moaned slightly, Peter turned sharply then remembered the vicious sore throat that was the primary symptom of strep and winced in sympathy. 

“Agent Burke?” Neal’s voice was timid, 

“Neal?”

“I think I’m sick.” Peter huffed a wry laugh and nodded,

“Understatement of the year. Come on, let’s cool you down.” He helped Neal into the shower and watched as the stream of water plastered the man’s undergarments to his skin. Neal started violently as the first droplets hit and tried to get away from the stream. No doubt the lukewarm water felt like ice to his fevered skin, but Peter gently pushed him back in. “Stay there Neal. Just trust me.” The con’s blue eyes looked reproachful as he shuddered but he obediently stayed under the water. 

***

After about eight minutes of standing in the shower as Peter slowly turned the temperature down, Neal turned back to the agent. 

“Peter?” He looked confused but more lucid and wasn’t addressing him as Agent Burke anymore. Peter counted this as a win. 

“Neal, how are you?” Neal shook his head and coughed,

“I don’t feel well.” 

“Better than before though.” Peter turned off the water and handed Neal a towel, taking the opportunity to feel his forehead. Still too hot but not burning; this was progress. “Let me get you a change of clothes and we’ll check your temperature.” 

He silently thanked his wife for keeping spare casual clean clothes in his car for when he decided to spend some time in the bureau gym and handed them to Neal, letting him change before handing him the thermometer for the third time that evening. 

Peter nodded as Neal handed it back a few minutes later with the readout: 102.4. Definitely high enough to feel pretty crappy but no longer dangerous. The CI slumped back onto the bed. 

“Ohhh no.” Peter pulled him back up, “I can’t have you getting dehydrated on me. Water first and then you can sleep.” He handed Neal a water bottle but the CI shook his head,

“I’m okay, I’m not thirsty.” Peter was undeterred,

“With the fever you just spiked on top of the fact you threw up earlier, you’re already dehydrated which could easily get dangerous. I’m not letting that happen on my watch.” 

“What if it makes me throw up again? That’ll dehydrate me even more.” 

“Are you feeling sick to your stomach?” Neal reluctantly shook his head,

“Then we’ll worry about that if it happens.” Peter opened the water bottle and pressed it into his partner’s hands, “Six large sips. Six sips and I’ll let you go back to sleep.” The CI brought the bottle reluctantly to his lips and took a sip, but held the water in his mouth for a long moment. When he finally swallowed, his face screwed up in pain and he brought a hand to his throat, whimpering slightly. 

“It hurts too much.” He handed the bottle back to his handler, shaking his head. 

“Is that why you didn’t want to drink?” The agent questioned. Neal nodded and Peter sighed, wondering how to solve the problem at hand. 

He put a hand absently on the younger man’s head as he thought, rubbing his thumb gently through the hair that was drying into damp curls that took years off the con man’s appearance, turning him from the 35 year old he often passed himself off as to the twenty-something he really was. Peter pursed his lips as Neal sat quietly, 

“You really need water, Neal. It’s either that or the hospital—” Neal turned sharply, eyes wide,

“No hospital, please Peter—“ 

“—which I was going to say isn’t an option in this weather. It really is dangerous Neal, and your fever spiking was bad enough already.” Neal fiddled with the blanket and coughed quietly, avoiding Peter’s gaze. The agent sighed, then looked up suddenly, “What about ice chips? That might feel better on your throat, there’s a machine down the hall. How does that sound?” Neal nodded,

“Ice does sound better.” 

“Okay then.”

Neal took the cup of ice chips gratefully from Peter as the agent returned a few minutes later. Peter watched as the CI placed a chip in his mouth and held the ice-filled cup against his face, closing his eyes in exhaustion. They sat for a long moment. 

“That’s getting a bit creepy you know,” Neal broke the silence without opening his eyes, “the staring, I mean.” Peter huffed out a laugh and Neal upturned his lips and opened hiseyes, fishing around in the cup for another ice chip before swinging his legs up onto the mattress and leaning heavily back against the head of the bed. He tried to sneak the cup onto the bedside table but Peter sent him a glare,

“Nuh-uh. You’re eating at least seven of those.” Neal sighed but picked up the cup and held it back against his face. Peter padded to the bathroom and found another hand towel, wetted it with cold water and padded back. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed the nearly dry curls off of Neal’s forehead with his palm, pressing the rag against the CI’s face. 

Neal watched him for several seconds, eyes large and still slightly glazed with fever, before giving a wry smile. 

“Peter Burke, dabbing at a fevered brow, I never would have thought it.” Peter normally would have responded to the taunt with another bit of banter, but his gut told him that Neal was using the sarcasm, almost palpably, as a shield for something else. So he simply quirked a smile and tapped the cup of ice, reminding the CI to take another chip. Neal did, and set aside the cup, having finished the required seven ice chips and slid under the covers, sucking away at the last of the ice and turning away from Peter’s side of the bed. 

The bed shifted under Peter’s weight as the agent climbed into the other side and leaned back against the headboard. With the stress of the past thirty minutes it would take him a while to get back to sleep. 

“I would almost think you were trying to make up for all the other times you don’t get sick with this bug.” He muttered. Neal made a small noise of agreement,

“It’s always been that way.”

“Yeah?”

“I figured that out when I was a kid, didn’t usually have to worry about most of the things going around, but when I did get something it was bad.” 

“How bad?” Peter was curious and pushed aside a small flash of guilt at using the Neal’s lowered inhibitions to find out more about his childhood. Not that he was likely to find out anything extremely interesting about his friend by learning about the time he had chicken pox as a kid. 

“I probably should have been in the hospital a few of the times.” Neal admitted

“Should have been? Why didn’t you go?” 

“No one took me.” 

So much for not learning anything import, Peter thought, but this was awful. Neal’s words were muffled slightly into the pillow, but the way he said them felt almost worse to Peter than the words themselves. They weren’t meant to incite sympathy, they were just matter-of-fact, as if it was to be expected that not every child had people to take care of them, as if Neal hadn’t really considered the fact that it wasn’t  right that no one took care of him. Peter had to admit that it was true, not every child did have someone to take care of them, and it was obvious that Neal’s childhood had been one of that sort, but it didn’t make it any less heartbreaking or  wrong . 

Peter impulsively reached over for the second time that evening and placed a hand on Neal’s head, carding his fingers gently through the younger man’s hair. With Neal’s usual walls somewhat lowered from illness and his hair drying messily as he lay flushed and curled up in bed, Caffrey looked remarkably young. Forget twenty something, he looked almost more like a teenager, and the nugget of information about his past had been the last straw for Peter. 

Neal stiffened briefly in surprise at the touch, but relaxed after a moment. 

“Is this you feeling bad for me because no one took me to the hospital when I was a kid?” There was a teasing nature to Neal’s tone but Peter remained serious,

“Neal.”

“Hm?” 

“I’m sorry things got as bad as they did between us.” 

“Me too.” Peter was slightly surprised at the open frankness of the words, he had expected a passive aggressive hum of agreement, but instead Neal shifted slightly, “it’s not all your fault Peter. I wouldn’t have believed me if I said I was sick either.”

“It wouldn’t have been that difficult to verify that you really were, though.” Peter pointed out, massaging his thumb along the base of Neal’s head like his mom had done for him when he was sick as a kid. He’d always loved that, but he doubted Neal had ever had anyone to do it before. Peter could feel some of the tension leaving Neal as the younger man drooped a bit more into his pillow. He continued, “You shouldn’t feel like you have to work through an illness like this and you definitely shouldn’t feel like there’s no one to help you if you need it.” Neal was silent. “That may have been your past Neal, but that’s not the way you’re living anymore.” Peter kept his voice gentle, “At least it shouldn’t be. And I’m sorry for my part in not making that the case.” 

Neal lay silent for a long moment. He still felt awful, every swallow was more painful than he would have thought possible, his head ached and his body still burned with fever, but Peter’s hand felt wonderful running through his hair, massaging his head, and the cool cloth he had laid over Neal’s eyes was leeching away some of the feverish heat. He felt himself fighting hard against a sudden lump in his throat at his handler’s words. 

“Thanks Peter.” Neal’s voice was low and he hoped Peter would pass off its husky quality to the illness. If Peter noticed it, or the quietly shuddering breath that followed the words, he didn’t say anything, just continued to run his hand gently through his CI’s hair. 

Neal sniffed slightly, but his next words were a bit lighter, “Does this mean you’ll stop going after me for whatever you think I did with the treasure?” 

Peter huffed a wry laugh, 

“I don’t think now’s the time to get into that. Unless you want to confess something...” Neal shook his head and Peter snorted slightly at the predictable response. He stretched and glanced at the clock. It had only been about half an hour since Neal had first woken him up.“How are you feeling now?”

“Not so good.” Neal admitted. 

“You need anything?” 

“No...yes...I mean...” Peter waited as Neal stumbled slightly, obviously unused to asking for help “just...this is getting a bit warm.” He pulled the cloth from his face, “could you maybe...” Peter took it,

“No problem.” He re-wetted it quickly in cold water, laying it gently back across Neal’s eyes. “Anything else?” 

“Some antibiotics?” Neal asked wryly. 

“As soon as we’re able to to get out of here tomorrow, bud.” Peter responded, patting his CI’s shoulder. He sighed as he got back into bed and turned off the light, “Get some rest.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We had fatherly Peter in the last chapter, this one features motherly El. The Burke’s really are kinda Neal’s parents sometimes aren’t they?

Peter could tell Neal was making a valiant effort not to be cranky as he bundled his CI into the car the next morning, but it was obvious that the consultant was still feeling pretty awful.

Peter had made calls the night before, informing Hughes of the situation and calling both himself and Neal in for a day off. All they had to do was get a prescription for Neal and bring him home—or rather back to the Burke’s house because Peter wasn’t eager to leave Neal alone and sick after the information he had gained the night before. He had called El that morning, who fortunately worked from home most Fridays anyway and wouldn’t have to insist on staying home. As it was, she told Peter to take good care of Neal and she’d get the couch made up for him. 

The temperature had mercifully gone up several degrees and with the salt sprinkled on the road, the trip was mercifully easy compared to the night before. Barring a few times when the windows had to be rolled down to let in some air as Neal paled with carsickness, the ride went smoothly. 

The wait at the urgent care center wasn’t as easy. Peter found himself sitting in a rather crowded waiting room, his arm around Neal as the CI dozed fitfully against his shoulder. After an hour he was starting to seriously consider using his badge to move things along, especially as Neal had begun shivering again, when they were finally called in. 

Neal was given the swab test for strep, though after examining him and hearing Peter’s description of the night before, the doctor agreed it wouldn’t be necessary to wait for the results to come back and gave them a prescription. 

Peter filled the prescription quickly at the nearest pharmacy and gave a sigh of relief as they finally pulled into the driveway. Neal had somehow fallen asleep again in the relatively short drive from the pharmacy, slumped against the window and loosely clutching the white bag of precious medicine. Peter felt slightly bad as he opened the passenger seat door to shake him awake. 

“We’re home, bud. Let’s get you inside and get those meds into you and you can go back to sleep okay?” Neal let himself be hauled out of the car and up the steps, where Elizabeth met them at the door. Her face twisted in sympathy as she took in Neal’s feverishly disheveled appearance. 

“Hey Neal, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” She pulled him in for a hug then lead him over to the couch where he sank down gratefully as she covered him with a blanket. She placed a hand to his forehead, pushing aside the hair and checking the temperature with her palm, her brows furrowing at the heat. “Let’s definitely get you that medicine as soon as possible. But you’re going to have to eat something first so it doesn’t upset your stomach. Does yogurt sound good? Or applesauce?” 

“Applesauce is fine, thank you.” Neal smiled up at her, nothing like his usual grin, just turning the corners of his mouth up slightly, but she smiled back, patting his shoulder,

“Applesauce it is then.” She gave Peter a kiss as she passed him on her way to the kitchen, “Hey hun.” 

“Hey hun.” He followed her in as she opened the fridge and pulled out the applesauce. 

“He looks pretty rough,” Elizabeth poured the applesauce into a bowl and spoke quietly, “how sick was he really?” Peter sighed,

“Pretty sick. It was already a nasty bug and I don’t think trying to work through it or walking through the freezing rain helped at all. His fever spiked pretty high last night, I won’t say I wasn’t worried.” She nodded, briefly clasping her husband’s hand, 

“Well he’s okay now, or he will be as soon as he takes the medicine.” 

She walked back into the living room and handed Neal the bowl, gently taking the paper bag of medicine he had hung on to out of his grasp. “Here Neal, eat that and Peter will give you your first dose when you’re done.” 

Neal was tired, dizzy, and feeling out of it, his eyes felt heavy with sleep and his head ached badly, but he took the bowl obediently from the hand that offered it. The applesauce was cool and slid fairly easily down, cutting through the pain his throat, though swallowing was still uncomfortable and Neal set aside the bowl with some relief when he finished. 

He took the pill that was handed to him along with a glass of water, unable to quite hold back moan of pain as the pill bumped roughly down his throat. 

That ordeal finished with, he slumped back onto the comforting pillows of the couch and closed his eyes. He began sinking rather quickly into unconsciousness, though he was vaguely aware of two gentle pairs of hands arranging him more comfortably, fluffing the pillows under his head, and covering him with blankets. He couldn’t quite remember who they were, but the kindness in their gestures was obvious; they were people who cared about him. 

“Thanks, love you.” He murmured sleepily. It was a bit more direct than he was used to, but he was too tired to think about a more nuanced way to say what he felt to the caring hands. A gentle voice murmured something back and a soft hand smoothed over his forehead as he sank finally into sleep. 

***

Peter had seen El’s maternal instincts taking firm hold as soon as she had laid eyes on the sick CI, her face crumpling with intense sympathy as she watched Neal struggle with the food and medicine. He felt a brief pang of sadness as he watched her take care of Neal. He had felt it before, whenever he was reminded of the unfairness of the fact that his sweet El who longed so much to be a mother and was so fitting for the role had never gotten the opportunity. 

Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she never failed to take an opportunity to care for someone, it was in her nature and Peter loved her for it. Neal though, was perhaps one of the few people she’d come across who truly needed it. In her instinctive El way, Elizabeth understood things about people—about Neal, that Peter only learned through feverish midnight confessions. She knew things, not in so many words maybe, but though she would certainly be saddened he doubted she would be surprised at Neal’s admittance the night before. 

Neal’s murmured words as he fell asleep had been the last straw and Peter could hear the catch in her voice as she murmured back,

“Love you too sweetie, get some rest.” Smoothing her hand across his forehead she turned to Peter, her blue eyes watering. “He’s even more of a sweetheart when he’s sick.” Peter gave a wry laugh, 

“When he’s not terrified that I’m gonna arrest him.” His expression sobered as he remembered the night before. Even despite his obvious terror, Neal had trusted him, and not even as Peter his handler and friend but as Agent Burke his case agent and arresting officer. Peter knew that their relationship had run deeply long before he had taken the deal, but he rarely stopped to think or wonder about the extraordinary trust Neal had placed in him so early on. 

“Poor Neal.” Elizabeth was wiping her eyes now and Peter put an arm around her, but his gaze was distant. He turned to her suddenly, 

“El, last night I woke up and he was out of his mind with fever. He must have gone back to the years when I was chasing him because he called me Agent Burke and was sure I was there to arrest him. He was terrified, El, I’ve never seen him so scared, he was trembling...” Peter gazed at the sleeping Neal, his face puckered into an unreadable expression, lost in the memory for a second as Elizabeth waited silently for him to continue. 

“It didn’t take much though, it didn’t take much for me to calm him down. I just looked at him and asked if he trusted me...and he did. He just nodded and let me take him to the bathroom and shove him into the shower until the fever stopped baking his brains. 

“He was still scared El, he didn’t stop trembling, but I had no trouble with him.” Peter looked over at his wife, expecting some surprise, but El was simply nodding thoughtfully as she sat, running a hand absently through Neal’s hair much as Peter had done the night before. Peter felt like he was missing something, something that both Elizabeth and Neal understood. 

“He placed so much trust in me so early on. He’s a  con man El, they don’t trust  anyone , why me?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, 

“You could ask Neal himself.” Peter huffed a laugh,

“Getting Neal to talk about feelings takes a 104 fever or heavy drugs, I’m asking you El.” Elizabeth smiled and looked down at Neal thoughtfully before answering,

“Neal...Neal knows people honey, he knows them better than almost anyone. The simple answer I think is that he saw who you are.” 

“Who’s that?”

“A good man. A fair man. Someone who wants to do what’s right, and cares about people. He saw the same things I did.” She looked down again at the sleeping con and gave Neal’s shoulder a small rub before looking back up at her husband. “I don’t think Neal’s seen much of that in his life. I guess I’d say it attracted him. That’s why he spent so much time teasing you when you were chasing him, he wanted to stand out to you, impress you, wanted you to notice him, because he likes and respects you. He wants to learn from you.”

“Wants to learn from me?” Peter gave his wife a skeptical glance and she laughed,

“Well, you’re right, he’d never admit it. But Peter, I don’t think he ever had a roll model growing up, at least not a good one, and, however unconsciously, he’s making up for that now.” 

“Well you’re right about the roll model part.” Peter admitted and shared with her the story from the night before as Neal basically admitted he’d been neglected as a child. She was as unsurprised as he expected and her eyes filled again, when she suddenly took the conversation in an unexpected direction, 

“Peter, I know you’re mad at him about this treasure business, and you know that  I  trust that you have a good reason to be, but honey, be careful with him. Your opinion means the world to him, little as he’d admit it. He’d take more conflict and hurt from you than from any other person because he trusts you, but if you break his trust it’ll break his heart too and for someone like Neal...” she trailed away and Peter finished her sentence,

“You think it’d be like his villain origin story?” El smiled a bit sadly,

“Something like that.” She stood up, walked over, and hugged him. “But you’re a good man Agent Burke. I know you’ll do the right thing.” She kissed him and then looked back at the young man on the couch, “Neal knows that too.” 

***

By force of habit, Neal never opened his eyes when he first woke up. If you were in trouble and someone thought you were asleep you had an advantage, especially if you could use the time to figure out as much as possible about the surroundings. 

Neal began automatically categorizing the sounds around him. The gentle clicking of someone typing on a computer nearby, the creek of floorboards and shuffle of socks as someone else walked around, and the noise of a nearly muted television were the sounds that he first picked out, as well as the smell of food cooking. The footsteps grew closer and a gentle voice broke the semi-silence of the room,

“Dinner will be ready soon. Do we want to wake him up?” It was Elizabeth Burke’s voice, Neal’s mind supplied and he relaxed. No need to worry about kidnappers with nefarious schemes. He shifted slightly and stretched, blinking his eyes open and trying to remember why he was lying on the Burke’s couch. The events of the past two days came back fuzzily, that morning in particular felt like hazy dream of exhaustion and illness. But he remembered enough. A chair creaked, Peter’s chair, in response to Elizabeth’s question. 

“Looks like he’s waking up. Perfect timing.” 

“Oh good, why don’t you see how he’s doing and I’ll serve the food.” Peter padded to the couch and stood over Neal, looking him up and down. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, you slept all afternoon.” He grinned and helped Neal sit up, “you look less close to death, how do you feel?” Neal took a moment to take stock. 

“Light-headed, sweaty, a bit weak.” He replied, “A lot better though overall. I can swallow again.” He swallowed to prove it and enjoyed the lack of knife-like pain, vowing to never take pain-free swallowing for granted ever again. Peter nodded,

“Your fever broke about an hour ago which was a relief. I told you you’d feel better after some antibiotics.”

“The wonders of modern medicine.” Neal agreed, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. “I think I’m hungry.” 

“Well that would make sense seeing as you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning and threw up since then.” Peter observed. “El has food basically on the table, let’s eat and then you can take a shower after dinner, I’m sure you want to.” 

He helped Neal up and kept a steadying hand firmly to his back as the CI shakily made his way to the table and sat down. Elizabeth set a bowl in front of him with a gentle hand on his shoulder,

“Hey Neal, I’m glad you’re up and feeling better.” 

“Thanks El.” He smiled up at her, “This looks amazing by the way.” Elizabeth smiled at the compliment,

“Yes, well I figured soup would be nice and nourishing for you, and anyway who doesn’t love soup when it’s cold outside?” The temperature had dropped sharply again as evidenced by the snow falling outside, but the Burke’s home was a comforting contrast. 

The soup was warm, filling, and  delicious especially after not having eaten something for over 36 hours. Neal focused on enjoying it as Peter and Elizabeth chatted easily through the meal. 

As Elizabeth cleared the plates away, Peter firmly steered Neal toward the stairs, 

“I left some clean clothes for you in the bathroom. Fair warning, I’m gonna check on you in fifteen minutes and make sure you haven’t passed out in the shower. Don’t make it too hot or you might.” 

Neal was glad to shed his clothing, sweat soaked and dried several times over, they felt contaminated by fever and he was glad to be rid of them. The clean water felt amazing, washing away the rest of the sweat and he took his time washing up. After about ten minutes he began to tire. He stepped out, dried himself, and began to dress slowly, his movements beginning to feel strangely heavy. As he tugged on the t-shirt Peter laid out he felt suddenly as if he could stand much longer and sat down heavily on the closed toilet, resting his head in his hands. He sat that way for several minutes before a knock on the door startled him. 

“Neal?” Peter called. 

“You can come in Peter.” The door opened and Peter was crouching next to him, looking concerned,

“You okay? What’s the matter Neal?” Neal shook his head,

“I don’t know, I started feeling really tired all of a sudden.” Peter looked relieved,

“Is that it?” 

Neal glared at him slightly, “Yeah.” 

Peter rubbed a hand down his back placatingly,

“You’re still fighting off the infection you know. I wouldn’t be too worried, though it is...” he checked his watch, “...right about time for your next dose.” Why don’t we get you your meds and then you can join El and I on the couch for a movie, where you can fall asleep whenever you want.” Neal nodded,

“Okay.” But made no effort to get up. 

Peter held back a snarky comment, opting instead to put a supportive arm around his consultant and haul him up. Neal really was feeling exhausted, Peter could tell, as he flushed slightly at having to be helped down the stairs but leaned heavily against Peter for support. 

They both sighed in relief as they settled on the couch, Neal purposefully leaving space and not leaning up against Peter, his dignity had apparently been bruised enough in the past day or so. 

Elizabeth came over and understood the situation with a glance, settling next to Peter on the other side with the remote and setting up the TV show she and Peter had been watching. Neal was making a valiant effort to look engaged El noticed with some amusement, though he was clearly not feeling up to it, but she held her tongue deciding to let nature take it’s inevitable course. 

Twenty minutes later she felt Peter shift and looked over to see him sliding a pillow under Neal’s head as the CI leaned awkwardly against him, fast asleep. She smiled as Peter’s hand brushed across Neal’s head tenderly and watched as he settled him more comfortably. 

Peter must have felt her gaze because he looked over at her, smiling gently. Their eyes met in a mutual, silent conversation—the kind of shorthand that came after years of marriage. Peter pulled her in close, arm wrapping around her shoulder as his other hand comfortably protected Neal, and, still smiling, turned back toward the screen. 


End file.
